


The Search

by RavenCurls



Category: The Wicked Years Series - Gregory Maguire, Wicked - All Media Types, Wicked - Schwartz/Holzman
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:20:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21888061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenCurls/pseuds/RavenCurls
Summary: Fiyero Tiggular has been looking for the Wicked Witch of the West for all the wrong reasons. Until now.
Relationships: Elphaba Thropp/Fiyero Tigelaar, Fiyero Tigelaar & Galinda Upland
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written a few years ago, and posted in another fanfiction platform. It is my favourite fiyeraba multichap. Reposting here for AO3 audience.

The upper floors of The Wizard's Palace were quiet. The lights along the corridors, usually brightly lit, were turned down, casting long dark flickering shadows along the corridors.

There were only a few guards on duty. Some of them were told to help out in the party downstairs while others had joined the party itself. There were two guards on duty at the door to the Throne Room. Their eyes looked straight ahead, glazed. One of them stumbled and then straightened himself. The other guard snickered.

"Told you you shouldn't' have drunk so much." He gestured to the empty bottles next to them.

"Hic," the first guard protested.

They might be officially on duty, but that had not stopped their colleagues from bringing up a carton of beer so that they could celebrate with the rest. The second guard rubbed his eyes. He would stay awake, he promised himself. He looked ahead of him, at the corridor that stretched in front of them and ended in darkness. It was the only passageway to the Throne Room, the only way anyone could approach the room. In his slightly tipsy state (though he blamed it on the dim lights), the straight corridor split into two, winding and curving like a silk ribbon on a lady's hair. He blinked his eyes and the two corridors merged into one again. The guard swore and rubbed his eyes again.

He did not notice the dark figure that flew past.

The Witch came on her broom. She saw, through the windows lining the corridor, the two guards who were on duty outside the Throne Room. One of them stumbled, and the empty bottles by their side told her that they were not taking their duties seriously. Fools, she thought as she deliberately steered closer to the windows, tempting fate, hoping that they would see her.

They did not.

The Witch turned her broom around and flew past the windows again, but still the guards did not notice her. She thought of hollering at them but changed her mind at the last minute. She had more important things to do than to frazzle the nerves of two guards.

The Witch flew directly into the Throne Room through one of its opened windows.

She landed smoothly, her boots making barely a sound on the marble floor. The room was surprisingly lit and she froze for a moment, fully convinced that there must be a trap somewhere. Perhaps the guards would burst into the room with their rifles raised, or a cage would come crashing down from the ceiling and trapped her. She took a first step after a while, followed by a second, but nothing happened, and she approached the big, ugly bronze head with trepidation, her broom in her hand, ready to ward off any surprise attack.

She knew where the lever was. She had seen the Wizard pulled it the last time. She moved toward the bronze head. She remembered how menacing the head had looked the first time she saw it, with its eyes glowing red accompanied by the flashing lights and plumes of smoke. But now the lights were off and the eyes looked dead, and the head looked more silly than menacing. She shook her head to clear away the memories from another lifetime.

There it was, the lever. The Witch yanked on it with more force than necessary. The red curtain behind the bronze head jingled lightly before it moved along the railing on the floor and revealed a large cage that spanned the width of the Throne Room and touched the ceiling. The cage was filled with Monkeys, looking strangely human with their bulging eyes and scrawny limbs. They were all naked, except for one. The Animals stared at her, silent. Behind them, their wings unfurled slowly, reaching their full span.

It was as if they knew why she was here and were ready.

She approached the cage, a finger to her lips, not knowing if the Monkeys could understand the universal sign for silence. She did not know if they were capable of making any sound anymore, but it would not do her any good if they kicked up a ruckus and drew the attention of the guards outside. Despite her impulsive nature, she did not plan to die on that day.

She put her broom on the floor and pressed her palms on the metal bars. There must be a door somewhere.

She moved quietly along the length of the cage, trying to find the opening to the cage. She had just found it when she heard a voice behind her.

"I know that you will be back."

* * *

Downstairs, the party was in full swing.

The room was crowded. Politicians rubbed shoulders with businessmen while famous personalities joked with generals. Glasses clinked as two Gillikinese businessmen sealed a business deal, and giggles erupted between three young women as they eyed a handsome soldier near them. In a corner, a live band played the latest music and the guests danced to the tune, the gentlemen's hands placed lightly on the back of the ladies as they twirled around the ballroom.

A member of the cabinet had just arrived, and Glinda moved gracefully across the room to welcome him, unhampered by the big puffy gown that she wore. The gown was custom made for the party, its bodice a pale green to match the dark green of the Gale Force uniform that Fiyero wore. The spaghetti straps showed off her slim shoulders, while the sequins of various shades of green and gold formed a V shape down the front, emphasizing her figure. The petals at the back of her skirt were of a darker shade of green, decorated with thousands of sequins and beads that were stitched onto the fabric by hand. The gown sparkled under the light, and so did the tiara that she had on her head. Fiyero knew that the gown and the tiara weighed more than the clothes that he wore, but Glinda did not seem to be affected by all those weight. She looked absolutely radiant, a smile on her face as she gave her hand to the grumpy new arrival to kiss. The old man said something and Glinda placed her fingers on her lips, giggling daintily before she pointed towards Fiyero's direction. The man turned and smiled perfunctory at Fiyero. The prince nodded in response and he reached out automatically for a glass of wine as a waiter passed by.

"Great party," a dry voice spoke next to him.

Fiyero looked at the man next to him. Like most of the younger guests, he was fashionably dressed. His shirt was rumpled though and his collar opened. He held a bottle in his hand, and took a swig from it before he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Where did you get that from, Avaric?" he frowned slightly at the liquor swishing inside the bottle. The bottle was almost empty.

"The kitchen. There was a girl who was most willing to accommodate my requests for alcohol and … other things." Avaric snickered.

Fiyero scoffed. Avaric was a university friend, but he never understood his penchant for bedding every girl between the age of fifteen to fifty.

The Gillikinese interpreted his expression correctly.

"You can't blame me for that. Ever since you appear in the Emerald City, all every girl wants is an Arjiki boyfriend. Tall, dark, handsome Arjiki with the heart of a warrior and the soul of a poet. Poor thing like me no longer stand a chance anywhere. I'm passé, out of fashion. I'm as good as yesterday's newspapers, barely good enough to wrap the rotting vegetables sold in the market."

Fiyero ignored him. Avaric could be very dramatic at times.

"By the way, I forget to congratulate you. Congratulations! To both your promotion and engagement." The Gillikinese lifted his bottle for a toast.

Fiyero clinked his glass against Avaric's bottle but did not sip from his glass.

"Though if I didn't know better," he continued, "I would think that she sprung it on you. You look more like someone who has a noose tightening around his neck than a man who is getting engaged to the love of his life."

Fiyero ignored the last jab.

Avaric did not seem to notice Fiyero's lack of interest in the conversation. "It's interesting how Shiz manages to turn out brilliant students year after year. I don't mean teeny, tiny, insignificant me of course," he said, though Fiyero knew very well that the future Margreave had never thought of himself as either tiny or insignificant. "We got people like Glinda, the sweet voice of the Wizard. We got people like you, deeply involved in military politics …"

"I don't dabble in politics, Avaric. I am the captain of the Gale Force. I don't play with politics. My job is to maintain the peace in Oz, to bring criminals to justice and to make Oz a safer place for everyone."

"Ah yes, the taint of Shiz." Avaric shook his head dramatically.

Fiyero was about to reply when Glinda suddenly appeared next to him.

She curled one hand around his arm as she gave her other hand to Avaric, who kissed it.

"Thank you so much for coming, Avaric," she said gaily.

"Wouldn't miss this for the world," was his reply.

Glinda giggled, and then excused herself and Fiyero as she pulled her fiancé away.

"Fiyero, have you seen the Wizard?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"He is supposed to be giving his speech in twenty minutes and I can't seem to find him anywhere."

Fiyero had no idea what the speech was about, though he suspected that it had something to do with Glinda. No, it definitely had something to do with Glinda, and she knew what it was, for she had swept into his office two days ago brimming with excitement and told him that the Wizard had planned to give a speech during the engagement party.

"Can you please go and find him, dearest?" she asked him. Fiyero nodded as he patted her hand reassuringly. The Captain squeezed through the crowd toward the exit, thanking and acknowledging the guests and colleagues who offered their congratulations on his engagement and promotion.

It was nighttime, and short of leaving the Palace, there were only a few places that the Wizard would usually go to. Fiyero went to his first choice. The Wizard always liked the Throne Room. He had a secret room tucked at the back of The Throne Room that was out of bounds to everyone. Fiyero had found the Wizard more than once, sitting in front of the big bronze head, high on something that he had consumed. He hoped that he would not find the Wizard drunk. It would be difficult to sober him up in time for the speech.

Fiyero approached The Throne Room. The two guards stood to attention, or at least they tried to.

"Is the Wizard inside?" he asked. The guards nodded as they stood to the side. Fiyero nodded his thanks and opened the door before he closed it behind him. He did not want the guards to hear anything if the Wizard was really drunk and started to sing or mumble something nonsensical.

He went in just in time to see what seemed like a shadow jumping out of one of the windows. Somewhere near to the bronze head, a lump covered by a blanket cloth shivered uncontrollably. And then someone whimpered and got his attention.

The Wizard was on the floor. He was sober but he was not alone.

Facing the Wizard was a woman, her back to Fiyero. A tall woman dressed in a black dress that hung from her thin frame. She wore a black pointed hat and some of her hair had escaped from the confines of the hat, curling gently in the breeze that came in through the windows. But there was nothing gentle about her stance. She took a step toward the old man, a green hand raised. She held a broom in that hand, her knuckles turning white with the force that she gripped the stick, as if she was about to strike any moment. The Wizard cowered in fear.

Fiyer took out his gun slowly.

The Wizard cast a glance at Fiyero and the Captain could see the fear in his eyes, but the old man was so scared that he was not able to ask the Captain for help, nor plead the woman for mercy. The Wizard's limbs skittered on the polished floor as he tried to back away from the woman, but he soon found his back against the bronze head; he was trapped.

The woman continued to advance, her eyes on the Wizard who now stretched out a trembling hand as if the feeble gesture could stop her. The Wizard glanced at Fiyero again, panic written all over his face.

It was obvious that there must be someone else in the Throne Room. The Wizard's constant glances behind her should have alerted her to his presence, even if she had not heard the sounds when he entered the room. Fiyero expected her to pause or to see who was behind her but she did not. It was as if she did not think that anyone who entered the room could be a threat to her.

The Captain brought up his other hand to steady the gun.

A gust of wind came into the Throne Room as he took a breath, wrapping the black skirt around her legs and sending the strands of raven black hair drifting in the air. There was something eerily breathtaking about the scene, but Fiyero focused instead on the one shot that he was about to give.

There was no mistake who she was. She was the woman who had occupied his mind for the past few years, the one whom he had been searching for so long. And he had finally found her. He exhaled slowly and pulled the trigger.

He did not register the sound of the gunshot. Nor did he hear the soft gasp that escaped from her lips when the bullet penetrated her flesh. But he knew that he had hit his target when the witch's legs buckled and she slid slowly to the ground.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

It was over faster than he expected.

Fiyero approached the witch cautiously from behind, his gun still trained on her. He watched as the Witch attempted to stand up using her broom as a crutch. He had to admire her for her strength, for he had seen bigger and seemingly stronger men who had collapsed with similar wounds. He turned slightly as he approached her so that he would face her. She finally managed to stand up, and her legs buckled again when she looked up and saw the face of the man who had shot her.

Her face fell. Her lips moved, but no words came out.

The rumours always described the Wicked Witch of the West as a crazy old woman with moulting skin, skin the colour of sin. Some even said that she had an extra eye that always remained awake. But the Witch in front of him looked nothing like that. Sure, she had green skin, but it was not dry and scaly. And she was not old. She looked like she was around his age or perhaps a bit older. He had expected someone with a wicked sneer and a twisted face, perhaps even foaming at the mouth, but he saw nothing of that. But there was something that he did not expect to see – a pair of brown eyes filled with so much sadness it almost hurt for him to see.

Fiyero felt his posture faltered, and he re-aimed his gun at her.

Just then, the door burst open and half a dozen guards rushed in and surrounded the Witch. They aimed their rifles at her, shouting conflicting commands. But she did not seem to hear them; her eyes never left the Captain's face.

A whiff of the scent of Gillikin rose told Fiyero that someone else entered the room. The rustling of a gown, followed by a gasp.

He did not need to turn around to know who it was.

"Glinda, you'd better go," he told his fiancée, his eyes still trained on the green girl.

"Fiyero…"

"Please, just go back to the ball. She's dangerous."

"But she's…"

Madame Morrible came into the room just then and stopped next to Glinda.

"So this is true," the older woman said. "Your betrothed had captured the Wicked Witch. Good job, Captain."

"Thank you, Madame," Fiyero replied, his eyes still not leaving the woman in front of him. "Gentlemen, please take her into custody," he told his men, and two of them quickly stepped behind the Witch and twisted her hands behind her, forcing her to the ground as they handcuffed her. She looked at Fiyero and Glinda, her expression no longer readable.

Fiyero finally turned and looked at Glinda. Her face was pale, and he noticed that she was trembling.

He holstered his gun and placed a hand on the small of her back.

"Glinda, let's go," he told her as he gave the prisoner one last look. Someone had pulled off her hat, and her long black hair cascaded down, resting on her shoulders like a cloak. The hair framed her face delicately, and Fiyero had to turn away.

She was just a girl.

* * *

The Wizard's Palace was both the home of the Wizard and the office of his administration. It had endless corridors, hundreds of rooms and thousands of windows. There was an in-house kitchen that could whip up a feast at a moment's notice for hundreds of guests, four ballrooms that could accommodate more than five hundred people each, a hair salon, a tailor, two bakeries, three restaurants, a bookstore and a doctor (besides the Wizard's personal physician who only attend to him). Deliveries were made daily for the items that were not available. The only thing that was not available and could not be delivered was a prison.

It was thus decided that the Wicked Witch of the West would be locked in a small, dirty, windowless room in the basement, guarded by two guards. The room used to be a storeroom, but was no longer in use. Fiyero had wanted to send her to Southstairs immediately but Madame Morrible stepped in. It was a day of celebration, she had reminded him, and they should not give the Witch a chance to ruin it with her ill-timed appearance. She would be transported to Southstairs first thing in the morning.

The Wizard did not give his speech as planned. He shook uncontrollably, even after the Witch had been removed from his sight, and had to be helped up. Even then, the ruler's knees shook like jelly as he attempted to walk, and he had to be assisted by two bodyguards. His personal physician was called in. The Witch was escorted to her cell by the four guards who would guard the temporary prison on a rotational basis. The two guards on the first shift were in a good mood when Fiyero went down to check on the prisoner. They joked and laughed, and congratulated each other on the capture of the Witch.

Fiyero went back to the Throne Room after that. Madame Morrible had left the room by then. He looked out at the external walls, searching for any claws or ropes that could provide a hint on how the Witch's accomplice that he had seen had escaped. There were none. He dispatched his men to go outside the palace to look for witnesses, and they returned shortly and reported that they were unable to find any. He was not surprised. The windows of the Throne Room faced a garden with a lake, and the garden was not lit at night. The possibility of finding anyone there at night was remote. Without any witness, there was no way he could know if the accomplice was male or female, human or Animal.

Glinda was having an animated conversation with two young women, the daughters of a senior officer, when Fiyero went back to the ballroom. He slipped an arm around her waist, and the blonde turned around and gave him a radiant smile before she kissed him on his cheek. There was no sign of that trembling girl that he had seen in the Throne Room earlier on. The music started again, and Fiyero led her to the dance floor. The couple spent the rest of the evening dancing with each other. She looked back at him, a smile on her face.

"What are you thinking?" she asked softly. Fiyero smiled back.

"Just how beautiful you are," he replied automatically. Glinda giggled. Fiyero held his fiancée close as they swayed gracefully to the music, but his mind wandered, replaying the scene in the Throne Room over and over again, reliving the first glimpse he had of the Witch, the sadness in her eyes.

The party ended before midnight, and his men pulled Fiyero to a nearby pub for another round of celebration. He treated his men to several rounds of beer, but left after the first round. His men did not mind.

Fiyero stood outside the pub. It was a long night and he still had to submit a report in the morning on the arrest of the Witch. He looked at the Wizard's Palace. The building loomed tall in the darkness, the yellow lights on the both the interior and exterior casting an eerie glow on the green walls. Glinda should be asleep by now, and so would the Wizard. But the guards on duty would still be awake. He could carry out his interrogation tomorrow morning before the Witch was moved to Southstairs, or he could do it tonight. He doubted that he would be able to sleep tonight. He could have killed the Witch with the one chance that he had, but that was never his intention; he only wanted to stop her from harming the Wizard. There was so much information he could get from her that she was more useful alive than dead. He thought of the Witch and, for a strange moment, wondered how much the gunshot wound hurt. He shook his head. The injuries of the prisoners were not his concern; the doctor in Southstairs would take care of that. He turned his thoughts to the shadow that he had seen jumping out of the window when he had first entered the Throne Room. He wanted to know who her accomplice was. There was another arrest to be made, and soon.

Fiyero turned and made his way back to his office which was two streets away. He had a safety kit in his office. Perhaps the Witch would be more cooperative if he showed some kindness to her. The report would have to wait. He never liked to write reports anyway.

* * *

If anyone had looked in, they might think that the Witch was asleep or dead. She was propped against the wall, her head down, like an unwanted toy left on a shelf. Her hands hung lifeless in front of her, cuffed, and her legs were splayed. The only sign of life was the blood that was still oozing out from the gunshot wound on her leg. And she stayed in that position, not moving, not even when the door opened cautiously and a head popped in.

"Elphie?" a soft voice asked.

The Witch looked up and raised her hands to shield her eyes from the bright glow in the other person's hand.

"Oh sorry," the voice said and she quickly mumbled something and the light dimmed significantly. She stood there for a while and then hastily stepped into the small confined space, trying not to wrinkle her nose at the smell in the room.

"Sweet Lurline, what are you waiting for? A green carpet?" she chided the Witch gently.

"Glinda?" the Witch blinked her eyes, bringing them into focus.

"Yes, it's me. Of course, it's me."

The blonde quickly squatted down in front of the Witch. She pulled up the hem of her skirt and tucked it in her lap, trying to prevent her skirt from coming into contact with the dirty floor as she slotted a key into the tiny hole on the cuff. It opened easily.

"I got your broom." With that, Glinda shoved the old, weather-worn stick into the green girl's hand. It was not much of a broom anymore. There was hardly any bristle left. The stick had been smoothened through years of wear and tear, but its tip was sharp, having broken off recently. The feel of the broom seemed to trigger something in the Witch, and she struggled to stand up, using it as a support like before. She winced in pain as she put some of her weight on the injured leg.

The Witch looked at Glinda the Good. She had changed out of her ball gown and was dressed in a simple blue dress ending above her knees. There was a sling bag across her body.

"Wait," she said as she bent down in front of the Witch. She took a piece of gauze from the bag and wrapped it around the wound, stopping the blood from flowing.

"That's better," she commented as she stood up and wrapped an arm under the other girl's shoulders. "Come on," she said as they hobbled out of the room.

* * *

At the main gate, the guards greeted the Captain of the Gale Force and let him in. He made his way immediately to the basement. More and more questions were popping into his head, and he would like to get them answered as soon as possible.

* * *

The Witch looked at both sides of the corridor when Glinda closed the door behind them and secured the padlock to the door. "No guard?" she asked, surprised to find the corridor empty.

"Are you complaining?" the blonde asked. The Witch shook her head slightly.

"Well, I kind of suggested that they must be tired and hungry guarding you, and that there is some leftover food in the kitchen. 'Isn't it a waste to throw away all these delicious food?' I asked. What I didn't tell them was that I had sprinkled something into the food before that. Ingenious, aren't I?" She tried to stifle a giggle and then looked at her injured friend and was glad to see a slight smile on her face.

Glinda turned to the left, towards the back of the Palace. They had barely reached the staircase at the end of the corridor when she heard the sound of footsteps coming down to the basement from the other end of the corridor.

"Hurry," she said as she helped Elphie up the stairs.

Fiyero reached the basement. The lights were dim, and he wished that he had brought some light. There was some scurrying at the other end of the long corridor, but there was no one to be seen. Rats perhaps. The basement and the lesser-used corridors were filled with vermin. The whole place was quiet as he expected, but something was wrong. It was a tick-tock before he knew what it was.

The door to the cell. It was closed and locked, but it was unguarded.

"Guards!" he raised his voice.

Glinda nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard his voice. She looked behind her, expecting to see Fiyero at the foot of the stairs. He was not. She pulled the Witch's hand as they made their way up and stopped at the top of the stairs. Glinda pushed at a part of the wall lined with faint markings. The wall moved with hardly a groan, revealing a dark passageway. The two girls went in, and the wall closed behind them.

Glinda knew the whole castle like the back of her hand and she led the way, deciding to go this way or that, or choosing a route that was not guarded and not in use. The Witch was surprised by the number of secret passageways and corridors. There were so many of them, hidden behind tapestries or in plain sight. She wished that she had known of them before. She wanted to ask Glinda how many more such hidden passageways there were, but her friend was too busy determining the way to go. They could hear shouts from different directions, male voices that were uncomfortably close, and they knew that an alarm had been raised and a massive search for the escaped prisoner was underway.

Glinda started to walk faster, but the Witch stopped in her tracks.

"Go," she whispered to her friend. "You can't be found with me."

Glinda shook her head. "I can't leave you here. You'll get caught. We'll be there soon," she promised as she gave the green hand a tug, not explaining where 'there' was.

The Witch swallowed and allowed herself be pulled again.

Many turns later, Glinda pushed at a wall in front of them and the duo found themselves on the upper floor of the castle, near to the Throne Room. The corridor was thankfully empty. The windows lining the corridor had never looked more inviting.

The shouts of the men echoed from downstairs. They were not out of the woods yet.

"Here," the petite blonde pulled the sling bag over her head and hanged it on the green girl's neck. "There are antiseptic, gauzes, cotton wool and some food inside. And your hat." The two girls could not help but smiled at the mention of the hat. The ghastly, black pointed hat that had sealed their friendship so many years ago, turning the two roommates who had loathed each other initially into best friends.

"Now go." She grasped the taller girl's hand, unwilling to let go. The Witch's long fingers wrapped around hers.

"Thank you, Glinda, for still caring about me," she finally choked out the words.

"Of course I still care about you, silly," Glinda pressed a hand to her cheek. "I always will. We're best friends, aren't we?"

The Witch nodded. She looked down and noticed the sparkling ring on the blonde's finger.

"I'm so sorry for today, for spoiling your engagement party," she sniffed slightly and then tried to give a brave smile. "And I forget to say congratulations to you – to you and Fiyero. I wish the two of you happiness."

There was no tear, her Elphie would never cry, but Glinda wiped her cheek, trying to erase the sadness from her face. And because she herself would cry if she stopped moving and stopped talking.

"Elphie, please don't be angry with Fiyero. He's just doing his job."

The Witch nodded slightly. Another shout in the distance. The guards were getting closer.

"Can you fly with that wound?" Glinda asked as she watched the other girl swung the broom between her legs.

"I can fly it even if I have no leg," the Witch replied dryly.

"Elphie!" Glinda admonished, knocking on the dirty old broom for effect and the Witch cackled softly.

The two of them stood there, facing each other, each unwilling to say the last word, until Glinda thought she heard the sound of footsteps approaching and the sense of danger returned to them.

"Goodbye, Elphie, and try not to put yourself in danger again."

"Try not to buy another pair of shoes, Glinda," was her reply and she was gone.

Glinda placed her hands on the window ledge and was about to lean out of the window when she heard a voice behind her.

"Glinda?"

She spun around.

Fiyero was there, still in his Gale Force uniform. A few of his men were behind him. They were all armed.

"What are you doing here?" he asked as his men moved to the windows and looked outside.

She held her breath until they had finished looking out of the windows. They did not see anything.

"Well… ," Glinda twisted the ring on her finger as she stepped away from the window. "I couldn't sleep and so I just walk around. And I thought I saw a shooting star. It's a good omen, you know." She gave a nervous giggle. "So why are you gentlemen here?" she asked innocently.

"The Witch has escaped, Glinda." She tried to look surprised. Fiyero's eyes bored into hers. He knew, she thought. Her hands shook, and she quickly put them behind her back.

"Do you happen to see anything or hear anything suspicious?" He asked as he took a step towards her. She shook her head. The air suddenly turned stifling and Glinda found that she could not breathe.

"Glinda?" his eyes softened, and his voice was softer as he took another step and his hands reached out to her. "Glinda, are you alright? You look –"

Glinda fainted into her fiancé's arms before he could finish his sentence.


End file.
